


people we pretend to be

by agivise



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Drama, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, and jules and krav being kickass bffs, basically picture mild 1920s film noir vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agivise/pseuds/agivise
Summary: In which there is an eighth Grand Relic, the trio hasn’t met Kravitz yet, and Julia’s only mostly dead.Before he steps out from the shadows, he withdraws his stone of farspeech from his pocket and dangles it near to his face.“Julia,” he calls quietly.“What’cha need, Krav?” crackles the pendant.“There are three individuals here who seem… off.”





	people we pretend to be

**Author's Note:**

> yo wassup my dudes!!! i had a bunch of ideas i wanted to put on paper and now I'm doing it. i'll do my best to have fun writing this. it's probably gonna end up being obnoxiously long tbh.

i.

In this form, he hasn’t any eyes.

This does not, of course, mean he cannot see. The Raven Queen has blessed him with enough strength to assure that he will, for as long as his contract is valid, be able to experience the world just as the living do, no matter which body he selects for the task at hand.

Or, at least, in a way vaguely adjacent to being alive.

His stature of slinking gold is as far from human as a humanoid form can get — a geometric golem of levitating metal which shimmers and shifts like a strange and impossible liquid. And though he can see, he cannot see himself without a mirror handy, yet he safely assumes he must be quite the sight to behold.

It’s far flashier than the looks he’s usually prone to choosing. Kravitz often walks the world in the body he’d died in — it’s his default state of existence, maybe, or maybe he just enjoys the comfort of his old skinsuit the same way a cat enjoys a sun-baked windowsill even when offered a decadently blanketed bed.

On rarer occasions, or for the long stretches of time spent within the astral plane, he is nothing more than a skeleton draped in dark fabric, slung together with thin ligaments and some sort of ancient and divine magic even he can’t quite comprehend. He wonders, sometimes, if it is his own skeleton, or simply whatever the universe or the Raven Queen or perhaps Lady Istus deemed the essence of “skeleton” to be. He has no way of knowing with certainty, but from the way his skull seems to shift seamlessly back into his skin when he wills it to, it seems to be the original, the same one which sat within his body back when his heart pumped warmed blood instead of cold.

Regardless, he’s selected his current form for a reason. This evening, he is at _la fête des charmes_ , a grand and roaring festival of magic and illusions, and while a gleaming golem isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous look, it’ll certainly stand out less than a red-eyed reaper in a raven-feather cloak prowling for a mark.

That, and the tugging feeling of fate pulling on the strings of his magic. He is allowed his own free will, always, but even he is not free from the whims of the universe.

A sad-eyed half-elf plays jazzy violin alongside a band of musicianless instruments that some clever magic user has enchanted to play themselves. The muggy warmth of the air carries the light of overhead orange and green lanterns across the festival as dancers twist and swing to the music.

Brilliant illusions of firecrackers shaped like dragons swoop across the sky, weaving in between towering animated armor suits and protective golems of amber and crystal, which act as watchful eyes in case trouble arises. It’s an incredible sight, but he must continue in his search undistracted.

Vendors line alleyways in booths draped with colorfully patterned fabrics, calling upon passersby to try on glittering robes and true-seeing spectacles and rings which are almost certainly a little bit haunted, judging by the way they call to him like fragments of souls. They’re small fish, though, a problem for another day.

In the distance, a set of three individuals walks together in a way that’s just a bit too driven to be of a celebration’s nature. The tallest of the bunch wields a beautiful battle axe and a mirror-faced shield in a way that Kravitz would assume would look very threatening had the man not been laughing and joking with his compatriots as he walked. A white-haired dwarf clutches a stout book tightly to his chest with one arm and waves the other wildly as he speaks. And the third — Kravitz can’t see much of them aside from a hooded black leather cloak, a teal beaded dress, and a parasol — no, an umbrella — slung over their shoulder as they sway their body to the music.

Something feels deeply off about these three. Something deeply and worryingly _familiar._ Every inch of his surroundings is bathed in intense magical power, but something about these individuals seeps an aura darker, more undead. The hooded one turns to him and gives the body language equivalent of raised eyebrows before turning back away — the first of any festival-goers to so much as bat an eye at him.

And, hell, if they can get away with being this ostentatiously suspicious, so can Kravitz.

He swings into one of the darker side alleys and lets his warm golden form shift back into his usual humanoid self, and he pauses for a long moment, before making one final adjustment. The usual inky black of his cloak gains a slight blue-green shimmer, like the feathers of a real crow. Though a subtle change, it gives his regalia a less formal tone, a more elegant and lively one. He suspects he looks less… _dead_. An aesthetic which is usually not part of the job description.

Before he steps out from the shadows, he withdraws his stone of farspeech from his pocket and dangles it near to his face.

“Julia,” he calls quietly.

“What’cha need, Krav?” crackles the pendant.

“There are three individuals here who seem… off."

"Off _how?_ " 

"I’m not sure if they’re involved with this evening’s target or not, but either way, I’ve reason to believe something’s wrong. Could you check if there’s a bounty out on any of them?”

“You have a whole book for just that purpose, silly,” she responds, and he can hear from her voice that she’s smiling. She smiles often for a woman who is no longer alive. “Just summon it. Call me back if you _actually_ need something, not just because you want the ‘new hire’ to feel useful.”

“You’ve been doing this for several years now, Julia, you’re hardly a new hire.”

“A couple years is no time at all to the Raven Queen. She won’t trust me with big bad reaper tasks for a long while, and you know it. Don’t be a goof.” A huff escapes the stone. “Good news is, I won’t ever look as goth as you, for at least a century or two longer, at least.”

“You can’t even see me.”

“You always look goth.”

“I’d argue, poppet, but you’ve a tendency of being right.”

“Always have, always will.”

He laughs. “I’ve probably already lost track of the trio by now, haven’t I? Better get back on that quickly. Goodbye.”

“Talk soon.”

The pendant snaps into silence. He pockets it and summons his book of bounties.

Ah, _hell._ There’s no wonder they seemed so immediately familiar. They’ve taken the top three spots on his list.

Kravitz almost chuckles as his finger traces over the second name. _Magnus Burnsides._ So _this_ is the man who’s taken Julia’s old number two spot.

This is going to be a long night.

———

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments mean the world. thanks for reading!!


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